


99 bottles of beer on the wall

by Mellomailbox



Series: on the wall verse [2]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, BAMF Raven, Brief mentions of other xmen, Canon Disabled Character, Charles You Will Be Drunk, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, First Meetings, Gift Fic, M/M, Poor Charles, Telepathy, on the wall verse, this was almost porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2562518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellomailbox/pseuds/Mellomailbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been years since the accident that paralyzed Charles, leaving him wheelchair-bound and shattering his carefree life of drinking, sex, and loose telepathy. Raven finally guilt's Charles into going to a bar with her, only to have them run into a rather unsavory Mutant and Disability fetishist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	99 bottles of beer on the wall

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I'm just going to put out a warning; this fic depicts a rather unsettling type of human that I hope none of you ever have to meet. The creep within the fic is a creative replica of someone my sister and I met in a nearly identical situation to what Charles goes through here. The idea of mutant fetishism stems from my own imagination, but I was minimally disabled for a portion of my life and it saddens me to say that disability fetishists do exist.
> 
> In this situation I was Raven, my sister was Charles and Erik was a stranger with good intentions.
> 
> Thanks to Endingthemes for listening to me flail about this for hours!
> 
> Also this is not beta'd or edited. [Update] Now cleaned up by loverly Endingthemes! She's too good to me, urg.

It was loud in the bar, all humidity and noise and gaiety. Charles typically avoided these sorts of situations unless he went in with the goal of getting drunk and getting laid. It was too much effort for him to try and keep out all of the excitement and arousal and raw emotion that being intoxicated brought out into a crowd. It affected their minds and their emotions, and any telepath could easily be swept away by any group mentality, so when Charles went to a bar, it was always with the intention of getting drunk.

And, by default, getting laid.

At least, that was what he used to do. It had been a few years since the accident that had paralyzed him, and as such it had been a few years since he’d been to a bar.

Raven had tried to coerce him, but all it had taken was one emotional, explosive breakdown shortly after the accident for her to learn not to push him. She hadn’t brought it up again, until now.

Raven leaned down, companionably placing her palm on his shoulder as she shouted into his ear, “See? This isn’t so bad, is it?”

Charles looked up to her and rolled his eyes in response. She was touchy about him using his telepathy on her, and even though it would be easier in the roar of the bar to communicate through their minds Charles knew that doing so would only end their night prematurely in a very public fight.

Well, it was something to keep in mind should he reach the end of his rope.

“I’m not a child, Raven,” he responded, just raising his voice. She obviously caught the remark, though, and quirked an eyebrow challengingly at him. Charles made a face and rolled over to the wheelchair-accessible end of the bar, not even bothering to turn his head as he informed her, “You’re buying all of my drinks tonight, Raven.”

She heard him, just as he knew she would with her exceptional senses, and snorted before climbing onto a stool next to him where the normal height of the bar top ended just before dipping down. He honestly didn’t know how she could stand the overload of the senses herself, but Charles filed that conversation away for another time. They were here to celebrate Raven’s acceptance into the CIA, even though nobody could know that was what they were celebrating, and Raven had begged him and one of her fellow agents, Moira, to join her out on the town for a last night of drinking before she shipped off to “the farm” -whatever that was.

Charles set his elbows onto the counter in front of him, hands clasped in front of him as he waited patiently for Logan to take his drink order. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen the bartender yet, and Charles sent out a curious tendril of his telepathy before quickly snatching it back before he could be swept away into the hive mind of the Friday-night partying mutants.

One of the main reasons that they chose this bar was because it was owned by Logan, a childhood friend of his and Raven’s. Because of this came the added benefit that the bar had become handicap accessible sometime in the last couple of years, with the end of the bar top closest to the door lowered to a level easily usable for someone in a wheelchair. This marked the first time that Charles would be here to take advantage of Logan’s consideration, and he was surprised that Raven hadn’t told him they were coming. Instead of Logan behind the counter there was a girl with insect-like wings fluttering behind her daintily and man with no obvious physical mutation, although he was sure to have some sort if Logan had employed him.

A third benefit was that this was a nearly mutant exclusive bar. Nearly all of the minds around him had the distinct spark that identified them as a mutant. Charles easily hopped over the minds of the few humans, their consciousness’s gray and flat where the mutant’s were bright and electric. It gave him a strange thrill as he glided, his body tingling with a static feeling not unlike that when your limbs fall asleep and then are suddenly awoken, nerves firing erratically. He never delved very deep, always considerate of the privacy of others, but he spent a few extra moments on the surface of anyone who happened to be actively using their mutation.

Sean, lead singer of Banshee and the Reef Fish, was barely using his as he sang, microphone unplugged and all for show as his powerful lungs easily broadcasted his voice throughout the room.

Armando, known more commonly as Darwin, lit up like a beacon as his mutation was activated when a flaming shot was dropped on his lap, skin solidifying to rock and then back to skin as soon as the alcohol was a safe temperature again, flames extinguished by Bobby’s icy breath.

The waitress who dropped the shot, Alisa, turned herself invisible in embarrassment, and Charles couldn’t help himself as he soothed her mortified mind, even as Darwin was offering comfort, ignorant as Alex from across the table struggled to rein in the plasma energy he’d summoned in his fear for Darwin’s safety. Charles soothed him just enough to be sure that he’d be able to control his mutation again before extracting himself from the situation, skimming lightly again along the minds around him.

Charles must be losing his grip on his telepathy, because he’d somehow acquired a drink (most definitely from Raven) and Moira had arrived. He had the vague memory of introducing himself to her before Moira took the stool to Raven’s right, the two women speaking animatedly amongst themselves.

Charles heard Raven brushing away Moira’s concern for Charles’ lack of participation with a simple, “He’s fine, he’s just blitzed on the minds of the crowd right now. Second hand drunk, the lucky bastard.”

Ah, she must be right. Charles was recognizing the light, swaying sensation in his shoulders now, and his cheeks felt warm even if he was only a few sips into his first drink. It felt like he was floating in a gently lapping tide, the rhythmic swaying of minds lulling him into an almost trance like state.

He’d forgotten how pleasant this could be.

His eyes were just starting to droop from the depth that he was allowing his consciousness to be sucked down when he felt an unpleasant mind come to a stop next to him, on his left side opposite of Raven.

Charles blinked his eyes open blearily, recoiling from the oily quality of the man’s mind as he automatically brushed his surface thoughts.

“Wow,” was all that the man said, eyes lasciviously taking Charles in. He was overweight, slightly balding on top with a crooked noise shiny with grease. He was wearing a soiled t-shirt, and sweatpants, and Charles was nauseated to find that the man was quite pointedly going commando, if the erection pointed in his direction was any indication.

Charles had met quite a few mutation fetishists in his life, and they were known to frequent the mutant-dominant bars. Charles had never met a disability fetishist before, though, and he was not prepared for what followed.

“You look… stunning. Incredible.” He was staring at Charles’ body again, torso and arms obviously lean and muscled even through his maroon cardigan, sleeves rolled to just under his elbow, showing off his thin forearms and surprisingly delicate wrists. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone to cool him off in the heat of the bar, sweat pooling in the dip of his collarbone, and Charles wished that he’d just left the damn thing buttoned. It sounded like the man was trying to compliment him, and he stepped forward, ignoring as Charles leaned further into the opposite side of his wheelchair in revulsion.

He should do something, say something, he thought drunkenly.

“May I?” The man asked, and Charles only managed a “Wha?” before he stepped forward, grabbing his arm roughly and pulling Charles’ exposed forearm towards his mouth, leaving an openmouthed, greasy kiss on the skin before letting go.

Charles let out a high whine of distress, trying to shake off the shock and the lingering heaviness of second hand intoxication, but he must have sunk too deep because he couldn’t seem to make himself do anything, his arm dropping like dead weight into his lap as the man let him go.

He could feel the spit cooling on his arm and he shuddered, managing to shake his head as the man leaned towards him again.

“Sweetheart! I know that you don’t like to wear the ring in public, but I really wish you would. I want everyone to know that we’re married.”

Charles nearly jumped in surprise, turning to see the male bartender leaning over the counter to grab his hand, teeth wide in a predatory grin turned onto the man accosting him.

“I know you’re worried about it getting stolen, _dear_ , but I think it would really help creeps understand that you’re taken if you wear it.” The man’s voice was low and rough, a note of danger to it as he eyed the stranger down, not even looking to Charles once.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Yeah.” Charles mumbled weakly, caught off guard, but even though their act was weak, the stranger was backing off now, hesitation clear on his face. His eyes flicked over to where Raven was now standing, attention pulled from Moira and to Charles’ situation at the sound of the bartender’s voice.

It only took a moment for her to assess the situation, mind quick even after nearly an hour of drinking, and in a moment she’d shifted from the pale, blonde form she liked to use into her natural blue one, scales dancing beautifully in a nearly instantaneous transition.

Charles nearly puked at the wave of arousal he felt from the creep at the sight of Raven’s transformation, and oh god, he must be a mutant fetishist too. Charles gripped where the bartender’s hand was still holding his, anchoring himself as Raven took a threatening step towards the man.

“I think it’s time for you to leave.” It wasn’t a suggestion, and the man took one more step backwards, shooting Charles a furtive glance before deciding against it, palms raised out to Raven in a placating gesture as he backed away, heading further into the bar rather than towards the door like he should.

As soon as he was out of sight Raven relaxed her posture, form shifting back to her blonde image as she leaned down, fingers alighting onto the arm rest of Charles’ wheelchair, asking, “Charles, are you ok?”

The bartender seemed noticed Raven’s hesitance to touch Charles, and he let go of his hand, though he stayed leaning over the countertop.

Charles shook his head once, and it felt sluggish, before responding, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Even as he asked, he felt the phantom touch of greasy lips on his arm, and bit the inside of his cheek.

Raven’s concerned expression didn’t falter, and she answered honestly, “Because you’re using your telepathy to shield everyone from noticing us.”

Charles was suddenly acutely aware that nobody was staring or paying any attention, and even Moira, who had been sitting right next to Raven, was still holding a conversation with Raven’s back as if nothing had happened and his sister was still sitting in her barstool, not crouched next to Charles with her back turned.

Charles blinked, letting whatever illusion his subconscious had concocted drop instantly, and breathed, “I think I need some fresh air.”

Raven nodded, and then hesitated, looking back at where Moira was staring back and forth from Raven’s empty barstool to Raven, clearly confused, before turning back to Charles. “I don’t want you to go outside alone while you’re drunk, Charles, but I don’t want to leave the bar while that creep is still in here.”

“I’ll take him.”

Charles did jump this time, surprised to see the bartender still leaning over the table, hand no longer clasping Charles’ but still within grasp, as if offering it should Charles need it. His jaw was working determinedly, his expression suggesting that arguing would be pointless even as he waited for Raven’s answer.

She visibly relaxed, shoulders loosening as she smiled gratefully at the bartender. “That would be great, Erik. Thanks.”

Erik shrugged, and turned to make eye contact with Charles. “It’s no problem. I’m due for a break anyways. I’d offer to keep an eye out for the guy instead, but Logan said if I beat up another customer, he’d have to fire me.”

His smile was probably meant to make light of the comment, but it came out razor sharp, almost predatory.

Charles found it comforting anyways, and laughed, asking incredulously, “Logan, holder of the world’s most explosive trigger temper, is concerned about violence?” Erik’s grin only widened, and Charles was beginning to feel a little bit better, as if he was finally pulling back in the nets of his mind that he had cast out.

Erik came around to the front of the counter, turning once to shout an accented, “Angel, taking my ten!” and getting a differently accented response of “Fuck you too Lehnsherr!” from across the bar.

Raven was telling Moira that she’d explain in a moment, and Charles could tell that Moira wasn’t nearly as alarmed as he thought she’d be, before Raven turned back around, gesturing vaguely to Erik.

“Charles, this is Erik Lehnsherr. He goes to my mutant support group and also works for Logan. Erik, this is my dumb genius brother Charles, and he doesn’t go to group with us ‘cause he’s boring and Nova is always on when we have our meetings.”

Normally Charles would have already thought of a quip that would have the two of them bickering affectionately, but he was still feeling far too drunk, and he merely smiled at Erik somewhat goofily, holding out his hand and offering, “Professor Charles Xavier, thank you for rescuing me.”

Raven rolled her eyes and turned back to Moira, eyes scanning the crowd as she picked her conversation back up with Moira.

Erik’s lips twitched, and he took Charles’ hand in his before looking down to the spot that the stranger had kissed, jaw locking again as he gripped their hands once before stepping away. “Hey, do me a favor and meet me outside.”

Charles was puzzled, but nodded, unlocking his wheels as he steered himself around the crowd, breathing a deep sigh of relief as the door shut behind him. He rolled around to the back where there were chairs for the staff to sit and smoke if they wanted to next to the back door, setting his chair next to the seats and locking the wheels again.

He let his head fall back against the stone of the building, not caring if it messed up his hair, and reveled in the relative quiet of the night. It was still the city, and by no means silent, but compared to the roar that the bar had been it was practically solitary confinement. Charles’ eyes slid closed as he focused on the sound of his breathing, letting the last slivers of his consciousness come back to himself.

He didn’t open his eyes when he heard the back door open, only humming softly in acknowledgement as Erik sat down beside him.

“How are you feeling?” There was that accent again. It was faint, but gave his speech a gravelly quality to it.

“Is that German?” he asked instead of answering Erik’s question, and couldn’t help the smile that spread at Erik’s huff of amusement.

“Yes. My parents were from Germany.”

Charles did open his eyes now, rolling his head to the side look at Erik. His smile was sympathetic as he murmured, “I’m so sorry, my friend.”

Erik waved his hand dismissively at him, voice betraying the truth as he responded “It was a long time ago.” He coughed to cover up the crack in his voice, and looked down at the rag in his hand as if just noticing it before offering it to Charles. “Here. Wash your arm with this.”

Charles took it gratefully, grimacing as he imagined that he saw a greasy sheen where the man had kissed him, and began to scrub ferociously at the spot before stopping as he noticed something. He inhaled deeply, and asked, “Is that vodka?”

Erik grinned. “Nothing better to destroy germs than alcohol.”

“Soap would have sufficed, you know.”

“Only the best for my husband.” Erik quipped, and Charles couldn’t help it as he blushed, looking anywhere but at Erik’s beautiful gunmetal eyes.

“Thank you for that,” Charles murmured, hand gripping the alcohol soaked rag. “This is the first time I’ve been to a bar or club since the accident. I’ve never run into… those sort, before.”

When he looked back to Erik he was startled to find that his eyes had gone dark, expression murderous. “Yeah, well, if I see him again, I’ll kill him.”

Charles let out a startled laugh, bringing Erik’s gaze back from wherever he’d been looking to stare determinedly into his. “Of course you won’t, Erik. You’d never.”

“How do you know that?” It was probably meant to come out as a challenge, but came out more curious instead.

Charles lifted his head from the wall, unlocking his wheels so that he could turn his chair to face Erik before locking them in place again. He reached forward, grasping their hands, and said earnestly, “Because you are a far better man than him.”

Erik looked troubled again, denying, “You don’t know that. I _would_ kill him.”

Charles merely smiled, squeezing their hands and replying, “I _do_ know. And you wouldn’t.”

“How?” Erik asked again, and now it was a challenge.

Charles’ grin widened as he replied, “Because I know my husband.”

Erik burst into laughter at the sudden change of atmosphere, and Charles couldn’t help his answering chuckle, heart fluttering as he felt Erik’s thumbs brushing comfortingly along the back of his hands.

“You know, you’re nothing like your sister described you.”

Charles raised a brow, prompting him with an “Oh?”

Erik’s expression turned sly, and he leaned forward conspiratorially, “She always talked about you like you were some crotchety old fart who didn’t know fun from a mile away.”

“Did she now? That sounds about right.” Charles leaned forward a bit, pulled in by Erik’s gaze. He felt not unlike a sailor being called in by a siren’s song, but he found that he felt nothing but comfortable around Erik.

“I think she was very wrong,” Erik started. “I think you’re a gorgeous young man who-“

Charles cut him off abruptly, bringing his hand up to cup the back of Erik’s head as he pulled him forward, a sigh escaping him as their smiles met in a kiss, lips quickly molding together.

Erik leaned forward, one hand bracing himself on Charles’ thigh, the other gripping tighter onto Charles’ as he deepened the kiss, licking his way into Charles’ mouth as Charles’ lips parted easily for him.

They kissed languidly at first, slow yet firm, small noises escaping Charles as Erik began nibbling on Charles’ lower lip before migrating downwards to mouth at his jaw. Erik’s hand had also migrated and was now palming at Charles’ hip where it had slid upwards, fingers sliding beneath the hem of his shirt. Charles could cry at Erik’s consideration of the numbness below his waist, and he almost did, whimpering at the steady pressure just above the dead zone.

“It’s a shame,” He panted, leaning his head back to give Erik more room to work, and Erik was leaning so far forward now that he was practically in Charles’ lap, and he bit down, making Charles’ breath catch as he pressed his tongue soothingly against the bite.

Erik grunted against Charles’ neck, prompting him to continue while never stopping his steady sucking and licking, and Charles was having trouble gathering his thoughts.

“It’s a shame,” he continued, unlacing the fingers of his left hand from Erik’s so that he could flatten his palm against the inside of Erik’s thigh, tantalizingly close to impropriety, “that Raven –ah—never mentioned you before.”

Erik didn’t appear to be listening anymore, giving a noncommittal hum against the side of Charles’ throat that caused Charles to squeeze a little too hard at Erik’s inner thigh, and he could feel Erik’s legs shifting, about to move to Charles’ lap, and he groaned, he wanted that very much yes and so he moved his hand to slide around Erik’s back to cup one of his cheeks, encouraging him forward—

“—Erik, where the hell—oh God, Jesus, holy _shit_ Erik,” Erik’s coworker (and Charles couldn’t even begin to try and remember her name while Erik was so efficiently sucking on his neck) shouted as she saw them, and Charles got the impression that she was pacing.

Neither of them made any move to break their embrace as she continued to rant, although Erik did sit back down in his chair rather than on Charles’ lap, and Angel finally gave up whatever she was yelling at him, parting with a sharp, “You are _so fired_ Erik!” before slamming the door behind her.

They kissed for a few more minutes before Charles leaned away with a groan that was more painful than aroused, back aching from the angle he was leaning at and chest heaving as he stared at Erik through lust hazed eyes. Erik eyed his throat as if he wanted to start working on it again, and Charles shuddered as Erik licked his bruised lips. “You should probably go do damage control.” Charles offered, and god, his voice sounded wrecked. He could feel Erik’s spike of arousal as he noticed, and he placed a placating hand on his chest to keep him back even as his traitorous mouth leaned forward to meet him for another kiss.

They kept this one fairly chaste, merely pressing their lips together a few times before leaning their foreheads together.

“She can’t fire me,” Erik offered, and smirked, stealing another brush of lips. “Though I’m pretty sure my shift is over early.”

Charles saw the invitation for what it was, and offered brazenly, “You know, going to a bar isn’t the only experience I’d be willing to try again tonight.”

He felt that he should be embarrassed, admitting something like that, but he felt inexplicably safe with Erik, even from his own insecurities.

Charles saw the excitement in Erik’s eyes before his grin faltered, and he looked down at his watch before leaning back with a disappointed groan.

“I can’t.”

Charles swallowed harshly, and tried to calm the disappointed sinking in his gut. He tried to tell himself not to be pessimistic, that Erik had been fine with the wheelchair up until this point, hell, he’d practically climbed into it with him a moment ago, but Erik must have seen him begin to panic because he leaned forward, kissing him again roughly and pulling back before Charles could reciprocate.

“No, Charles, it’s not what you’re thinking. I have to pick up my kids from my friend who’s watching them in two hours.” He brushed his thumb over Charles’ cheekbone fondly before leaning back, although he kept their knees touching, as if addicted to the contact.

“Oh,” was all Charles replied, still trying to catch his breath, and this time it was Erik’s turn to be nervous, and Charles caught brief ‘ _shit, what if he doesn_ _’t like kids_ _’_ and the steely resolve of _‘too bad, his loss_ _’_ before it was his turn to grasp Erik’s knee comfortingly.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s lovely, you having children. Er. I mean.” Charles was blushing now, and he pulled his hand back in embarrassment, further mussing his hair as he ran his fingers through it as he tried again. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting that answer. I absolutely understand, I was being forward anyways, and--”

Before Charles could work himself into a further mess of humiliation Erik was pulling a pen off of where it was clipped to the neck of his black t-shirt, and he clicked it open, writing something on the receipt he’d already pulled from his pocket.

He handed it to Charles, and stood, saying, “Call me sometime. Preferably sometime soon.” He leaned down to kiss him again, and said, “I know this looks like a suave goodbye, but I’m actually just going to go get my keys so that I can drive you home.”

Charles laughed, said “ok” and kissed Erik’s palm once before letting him go, folding the receipt neatly and putting it in the pocket of his cardigan as Erik went inside. He went about making himself presentable, briefly popping into Raven’s mind to let her know that Erik was taking him home before she shoved him out with the mental equivalent of a teenager shouting “fine!” in agitation and slamming their bedroom door shut.

Charles didn’t let her usual hypocrisy agitate him this time, smiling serenely as Erik stepped out of the bar, keys twirling on his index finger. “You ready, Charles?” Erik asked, and Charles could only nod, awed that this man he had just met already knew him so well, fit so perfectly into his life.

He thought of the events of that night, his trepidation at going out into public, exposing himself to other people again, and then of Erik’s kisses. Charles smiled, unlocking his wheels and pushing himself forward to meet Erik, who leaned downed to give him another brush of lips, as if he couldn’t get enough.

As Erik straightened again Charles couldn’t help his genuine smile, answering, “Yes, I think I am.”

Erik returned Charles’ grin, knowing light in his eyes, a companionable silence overtaking them as they made their way down the street to where Erik was parked.


End file.
